Philip Athans - The Halls of Stormweather

Which reminded Larajin of the injured tressym.

"I have to go," she said, glancing up the street in the direction of Kremlar's perfume shop.

Thazienne's playful expression instantly sobered. She caught Larajin's arm. "Not that way," she said. "There's three elven gentlemen just up the street that I don't think you want to meet-much as they'd like to make your acquaintance."

Larajin's eyes widened. "Is one of them a wild elf?"

Thazienne's eyebrows raised in surprise. "You've run into them before?" she asked. "They look like pretty tough customers. They nearly succeeded in grabbing me-and I'm a pretty slippery eel. What do they want with you?"

"I don't know," Larajin said with a shiver. "Maybe they're members of a rival house who want to kidnap an Uskevren servant."

Thazienne shook her head slowly, her green eyes sparkling. "I don't think so," she said. "I understand a bit of the elven tongue-enough to have overheard one of them say, 'Is it her?' and the other answer, 'She's the one. I could smell it.' It's you they're after, Larajin."

Larajin glanced around fearfully. "Where are they now?"

"I pretended to run away, but then I followed them. They're lying in wait outside your friend's perfume shop."

Larajin didn't know which surprised her more: the fact that the young mistress knew about Kremlar, or that the wild elves knew her movements.

"You shouldn't go back to Stormweather Towers either," Thazienne advised. "Is there some other place else you could lie low?"

Larajin thought for a moment, then nodded. "I could go to Habrith's," she said. "Or do you think they'll be waiting for me there, too?"

A strange look crossed Thazienne's face; it was almost as though she knew something Larajin didn't. "Habrith's bakery should be safe enough," she said. "Go there now. I'll distract the elves and lead them back to Stormweather Towers, so they'll think you're there."

Larajin felt a rush of relief. "That's very kind of you, Mistress Thazienne."

"Think nothing of it-I haven't had this much fun in tendays," Thazienne said. She winked. "And for gods' sake, call me Tazi, would you?"

Larajin peeked out the window of Habrith's shop at the busy intersection. Wagons rumbled past, shoppers hunched along through the snow, and nobles in all their finery rolled past in glass-enclosed carriages, high above the dung-splattered slush in the street. She saw Kremlar stride past under a multicolored snow parasol, followed by a servant of the Soargyl family who was laden with boxes of Kremlar's perfume samples. But there were no other figures she recognized-and she was especially relieved to note there were no green-cloaked elves in sight.

"I don't understand any of it, Habrith," Larajin said, letting the curtain fall. "I'm not my parents' daughter, and now there are elves trying to kidnap me. Wild elves."

Habrith must have heard the faint note of disgust in Larajin's voice. "Elves have their place in the world, just as humans and dwarves do," she gently chided. She waved away a customer who had come to buy bread and hung a "Closed" sign on the shop door.

Larajin wasn't listening. "What are they doing in Selgaunt, anyway? Wild elves are too simple and shy to cope with city life. That's why they hide in the forest. They have no use for money, the elder master says. Nothing to spend it on. Why would they want to ransom me?"

"It's not ransom money they're interested in."

The certainty of Habrith's tone caught Larajin's attention. She stared at Habrith. The baker was in her late sixties-older than Larajin's mother-but though her face was wrinkled, her hair was still a rich nut brown. She wore it in a simple braid down her back. Her clothes were fashionable, but a little on the plain side. In a city where even peasants decorated their bodies with enough adornments to attract a flock of greedy crows, Habrith's only adornment was a silver crescent moon pendant, worn on a leather thong around her neck.

Habrith's philosophy-"simplest is best, and all ingredients in balance"-was reflected in her shop. She was known throughout the city for her bread. While other street bakers and household cooks, including Larajin's mother, cut and shaped their bread in intricate patterns, Habrith's product was simple, square loaves, shaped like the pans they'd baked in. But the tastes… that was where Habrith excelled. She made loaves using ingredients even Larajin's mother hadn't heard of.

Shonri and Habrith had been rivals, back before Larajin was born, and for a time there had been a war of loaves in the Uskevren household. Over the intervening years they'd developed a close bond, based on their shared love of their craft. Habrith, who seemed to embrace Larajin's own thoughts on the foolishness of fashion, had become like an aunt to the girl.

Now Larajin wondered how much Habrith really knew about her. The baker hadn't seemed one bit surprised when Larajin had told her that Shonri and Thalit weren't her parents.

Habrith seemed to have heard Larajin's thoughts. "I know who your mother is," she said.

"You do?" Larajin asked, startled.

Habrith nodded. "I've been waiting for the right moment to tell you. Now it seems that moment has been forced upon us. I just hope you're prepared to listen."

"I am," Larajin said, jumping down off the counter she'd perched upon. "Tell me!"

Habrith thoughtfully fingered the pendant at her throat. "You asked about wild elves. That's a subject I know a thing or two about. I was the one who set up the trading mission that your mother spoke of. Thamalon Uskevren hoped the fruits and nuts that grew wild in the Tangled Trees could turn a profit, and that this would encourage the preservation of that forest."

"What have the Tangled Trees got to do with me?" Larajin asked. "Aside from the fact that a Daleswoman gave birth to me there."

"Your mother wasn't a Daleswoman," Habrith said. "She was a wild elf."

For a moment, Larajin sat in stunned silence. Larajin refused to believe it. Her mother couldn't have been one of those tattooed, wild creatures. She shook her head. "My mother can't have been an elf," she said. "I'm human."

"Half-human," Habrith said.

"But my ears aren't-" Larajin's eyes widened as she remembered her reflection in the pool in Sune's Temple. She'd seen her own face-but with an elf's delicately pointed ears.

"So that was what the goddess was trying to tell me," Larajin said in a whisper. She stared at her fine-boned, slender fingers as if seeing them clearly for the first time, then ran them over her narrow face and pointed chin.

Habrith looked intently into Larajin's eyes. "The goddess?" she prompted.

It was all the encouragement Larajin needed. She told Habrith about what had happened in the Temple of Sune: about her wounds magically healing and the reflection she'd seen in the pool. She told Habrith about the rat bites, and the sewer, and her encounter with the tressym. She also told Habrith about the Hulorn's strange appearance and the magical appearance of Sune's Kisses, whose fragrance the wild elves seemed particularly interested in. When she finished, Habrith was quivering with excitement.

"Do you know the elvish word for that plant?" Habrith asked.

Larajin shook her head mutely.

Habrith spoke two words in a fluid language, then translated. "The name for it in the Common tongue is Hanali's Heart. It's also sacred to the elven goddess of beauty: Hanali Celanil. The gold flecks on the leaves are her symbol. The fragrance is said to emanate from priests of Hanali when they are working their magic."

"I'm no priest," Larajin protested, "and I worship in Sune's Temple."

"Sune and Hanali are rivals for mortals' love and affection, but they share one thing: the sacred pool of Evergold. While the goddesses might quarrel over whether humans or elves are more beautiful and often try to steal each other's worshipers-especially if they are half elven-they are on friendly terms with one another. It is possible for a mortal to worship them both-and to be blessed by both."